Friday, June 3, 2016

Interview with Kristen Reed, Author of The Way of Escape, The Clara Robinson Series, Book 1

What made you decide to
be an author? I’ve
actually been writing since I first learned to put pen to paper at three years
old. I didn’t become serious about writing and publishing my books until about
five years ago.

What do you like best
about being a writer? What do you like the least? I love being able to share the
fantastical worlds and stories in my head with other people so they can have a
few hours of escape from their everyday lives. My least favorite part of
writing is always editing. It usually takes longer to edit a book than it does
to write it.

How do you think your life
experiences have prepared you for writing?After I accepted Jesus as my Savior in 2013, I began to
write from a Christian perspective. Writing the horror and fantasy/fairytale
genres from that world view is very fun but challenging. In The Way of Escape, Clara,the protagonist, has to fight against
her own sinful nature and process through the existence of vampires from a
biblical perspective. However, she and the other Christian characters still
make mistakes (like all believers do) and still need grace just as much as the
nonbelievers around them do.

Have you ever felt as if
you were being dictated to while you wrote a book--as if the words came of
their own accord? If yes, which book did that happen with?Yes. That was the case with The Jilted Bride: A Footnote to Cinderella’s Happiness. I wrote the
book from start to finish in about a week and have gotten crazy good feedback
from editorial reviewers and my friends. I’ve never had inspiration strike like
that before.

You’ve written five novels
and are working on a sixth novel. What’s your favorite time management tip?Set aside a specific time to write daily and come up with
a quote. I usually write on my lunch hour and right before church on Tuesday
nights with a goal of 500 to 1,000 words per day.

Are you a plotter or a
pantser, i.e., do you outline your books ahead of time or are you an “organic”
writer?I write out the plot before I start writing, but it
always evolves as I write. I wind up going back to that outline and editing it
while I work on my first draft. Eventually, a pared down version of that can be
used as a synopsis or inspiration for the book blurb.

If you had one take away piece of advice for authors,
what would it be?Learn how to deal with rejection/negative feedback. While
you will receive legitimate, constructive criticism from some people, others
may not be fond of your style, genre, or have some other subjective thing they
dislike. Even Jane Austen and Anne Rice have haters, so at some point, you will
find someone who dislikes your work. Just look for the applicable feedback in
their criticism and run with it.

Did music help you find
your muse with this book? If yes, which song did you find yourself going back
to over and over again as you wrote?I didn’t have a song that inspired me, but the Bible
verse 1 Corinthians 10:13 inspired the title as well as Clara’s thought process
in the story. It says: “No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to
man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability,
but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be
able to endure it.” Clara is literally and spiritually trying to find the way
of escape out of Emmanuel’s island and her own temptation.

Tell me more about The Way of Escape.

When the leader of a vampire coven
tells Clara Robinson that she's a dhampir, he gives her an impossible choice:
Keep her mortality and live as a slave or become a vampire be free. A vampire
visiting the coven complicates matters by revealing that she can liberate all
of the slaves by parting with her humanity and becoming a vampire. This news
forces Clara to examine her faith and decide if she should risk her eternal
soul to save the humans or give up her freedom to serve by their side.

Lisette pushed open the door and gestured for me to enter. I hesitantly tiptoed into the room and jumped slightly much as the other woman had, my heart skipping a beat when she shut the door behind me and left me alone with the two strange men who occupied the large living area. The first man stood by the fireplace taking a sip from a glass of red wine. Long black curls cascaded down his back and nearly blended in with the expertly tailored tuxedo he wore just as his button down shirt almost disappeared into the pale skin of his neck.

When the man set the glass on the mantle, I finally got a good look at his surprisingly youthful, heart-shaped face as he licked the wine from his Cupid’s bow lips. After he finished savoring his wine, which he barely seemed old enough to drink, he opened his blue eyes and fixed me with an inquisitive yet predatory stare that made me shiver despite the heat coming from the lit fireplace. I suddenly knew how a gazelle felt after capturing the unwanted attention of a cheetah during a stroll across the savannah.

In an attempt to evade his chilly gaze, I gave the second man a once over. He sat in a Queen Anne-style chair that was just a shade whiter than his fair skin. Though his green eyes were trained on me, his stare wasn’t as unsettling as his companion’s had been. I thought that his wavy auburn hair was short until he turned his head to glance at his phone and I saw that he’d just swept his locks away from his face in a low ponytail. As I took in how the minimalist hairstyle showed off his deep-set eyes, high cheekbones and square jawline, I realized that I would have been attracted the man if I hadn’t been terrified of him.

While he didn’t exude the same threatening aura as his slightly younger companion, I still felt as if I was a fly that he could swat easily and remorselessly at any moment. I hadn’t felt that powerless in over a decade, and I hated the feeling just as much then as I had growing up.

“Bonjour, Clara,” the raven-haired man greeted in a smooth French accent. “My name is Emmanuel Géroux and this is my guest, Augustus Damiani.”

“Hello,” I replied hesitantly.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve brought you here,” he presumed. “Let me begin by apologizing for the lackluster room you awakened in. I wasn’t quite sure what I should do with you when you first arrived.”

“I’m more concerned about what I’m doing in your house than the quality of the room I woke up in,” I said carefully. “Why did you bring me here?”

Emmanuel walked over to the wet bar nearby and poured himself another glass of wine as he spoke, his friend’s eyes never leaving me as the conversation continued.

“My men found you lying unconscious near the village of Manonette last night. Apparently a fire broke out at the facility where you were staying, and you passed out after the evacuation.”

When I struggled to recall the events that transpired earlier that night, I vaguely remembered smelling smoke and hearing an alarm blaring. The memory was so indistinct and brief that I’d brushed it off as a dream, but that hazy memory was enough for me to believe that Emmanuel was telling the truth about the fire at Gospel Gateway. However, I should have awakened in a hospital and not on a private island with two men who looked like they’d just gotten home from a night at the opera.

“Is everyone else alright?”

“Yes, no one at the facility was injured in the fire.”

The relief Emmanuel’s news brought gave me a brief respite from my suspicion. Alas, that break didn’t last long.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your help, but why didn’t your men take me to a hospital if I was unconscious? I might have needed treatment for smoke inhalation or burns,” I pressed on. “And who are you that you have people prowling around Gospel Gateway and Manonette at night?”

My host nodded and took another less leisurely swig to polish off his wine before giving me a more fleshed out explanation.

“Well, mademoiselle, I am the leader of the vampire coven that resides on this island. I sent the men who found you to Haiti to bring more humans to the island to be our servants. When they discovered you and a few of your missionary friends near Manonette, they took you to fill my open positions,” Emmanuel explained nonchalantly. “One of the first tasks my men complete with new humans is pricking their fingers and tasting their blood to see if they are worthy of being one of our personal attendants. However, when they tasted your blood, they realized that there was more to you than meets the eye. Your blood had the sweetness of life and the bitterness of death, which means that you are half vampire — also known as a dhampir. Since you aren’t fully human, I wanted to give you the opportunity to choose your fate. You can either live with your fellow mortals and toil on my island for the rest of your days or enjoy the luxury and privilege that comes with being a vampire.”

I gaped at Emmanuel in stunned silence as I attempted to process his ridiculous explanation. Although my first instinct should have been to laugh at him and look for hidden cameras, something inside of me told me that he was telling the absolute truth. While I’d never contemplated the existence of vampires and had only seen them as fictional characters in books and movies, I’d spent enough time in the Bible to know that demons and other nefarious creatures existed. Jesus himself had even cast a legion of demons out of a man and into a herd of two thousand pigs.

If people can be possessed by demons, is the existence of vampires really that far off, I wondered. Either this guy is telling the truth or he’s insane. I can’t decide which one is worse.

“Then proof you shall get,” he agreed with a smile as he set down his drink.

Emmanuel took a step forward, but I backed away before he could reach me.

“Can you prove it without coming any closer,” I revised.

“Of course.”

The Frenchman stood his ground a few yards away and his blue eyes underwent a frightening transformation. His pupils bled outward as if someone had dropped ink into his eyes until I found myself gawking into two completely black orbs. Once that change was complete, Emmanuel opened his mouth to show that his top canines had extended into a pair of gleaming white fangs. He let out a feral hiss that sent me sprinting for the door, which I quickly realized was locked. I tried to force the door open, but the hair-raising tickle of his breath on my neck paralyzed me as he placed a frigid hand on mine and removed it from the doorknob.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said in a tone that would have sounded reassuring if not for his newly terrifying appearance. “If I truly wanted to hurt you, you would not be standing here with your pretty neck untouched and your blood still in your veins.”

Kristen Reed, a graduate of the
University of Texas at Dallas, is an artist, filmmaker, and author from Dallas,
Texas. As a Christian, her faith influences her writing and is the driving
force in her life.